The interpreter shoved him, directing him over to the right of the entrance and behind a large rock. Even in the frigid air, Sikes could smell the distinctive odor of a latrine. With two guards on either side, he and the old native stepped toward the rock, then took aim at the icy formation. Yellow stains and spatters already marred its surface, evidence of their predecessors, and an answer to the question of whether or not warm urine would melt arctic ice. Clearly, it wouldn’t, freezing on contact instead.
Sikes tried to assume a nonchalant air as he prepared to pee. He gasped as he unzipped his jumpsuit and felt his balls shrivel up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw White Wolf give a wry grin. Evidently, the older man knew what to expect.
The noise of the helicopter suddenly changed pitch, reaching up toward the higher spectrum of its octave. Sikes glanced up with his eyes, careful to keep his head straight forward and focused on the business at hand. Up doppler, an indication that the helicopter had changed course and was now approaching them once again.
The Spetsnaz heard it, also. One of them motioned sharply to the interpreter, who barked, “No! Enough — back inside.” He grabbed Sikes by the shoulder and started to drag him toward the cave.
Sikes’s right arm curled around and behind the other man’s arm, coming up to brace his forearm under the interpreter’s elbow. Sikes lifted up sharply and felt the joint crack. The interpreter screamed and fell to his knees. As the sound of the helicopter deepened, obscuring every other noise in the area, he saw the Spetsnaz commander’s lips move, but couldn’t hear the order given. There were only a few seconds remaining. Desperately, he stared up at the helicopter, waved his hands, and then resorted to the only uniquely American gesture that came to mind.
As two Spetsnaz closed in on either side, weapons at the ready, Sikes raised one arm, his middle finger protruding from a clenched fist. If nothing else, at least they would know he was American. He was able to hold the gesture for only a few seconds. Suddenly, something hard crashed into the back of his skull. He blacked out immediately, and was unconscious before he hit the ice.
“Jesus,” the copilot said. He stared back at the figure, too astounded to feel the reflexive anger the gesture ordinarily invoked in him. “Hell, Brian,” he said, aware that his voice sounded distant. “One of them damned invaders just flipped me off.”
“What do you mean?” Brian replied, concentrating on maintaining safe altitude and level flight in the offshore burble of air. “You got the middle finger?”
“Yeah.” The copilot frowned, trying to remember his college days’ tour of Russia. “Only thing is, that gesture doesn’t mean the same thing in Russia that it does in the U.S. Now why would — oh, hell!”
“Get on the horn to Mother,” the pilot said, his voice hard. “Tell them that we just got a confirmation that our missing SEAL is alive.”
“We have to get him out of there,” Huerta said. The senior chief petty officer had no compunctions about standing up to anyone, including admirals, when it came to the safety of a fellow SEAL. “We don’t leave our people behind. Not ever.”
Batman rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily. How long had it been since he’d slept? “Of course we need to get him out,” he said, trying to concentrate. “Now that we know he’s alive.”
The old, grizzled SEAL shook his head. “Doesn’t matter to us either way, Admiral,” he said neutrally. “Dead or alive, we never leave a shipmate behind. Never.”
Batman looked up, saw the cold determination on the man’s face, and felt the beginning of hope. “Tough odds. According to all the reports, there’s thirty to fifty men on that island.”
“You might be better off just leaving the planning to us, Admiral,” the chief said, his demeanor defrosting slightly. “We’ve done this a time or two before.”
“But the odds?” Batman persisted.
The SEAL smiled coldly. “Who cares if they’re outnumbered?”
“You realize how stupid you were?” Batman glared at the two aviators.
The pilot met his stare defiantly. “We weren’t doing any good where we were. And at fifteen hundred yards, I’ve got time to get away from a Stinger.”
“But not at thirty yards. Which is exactly where you were, skimming over the surface of that island at ninety feet.” Batman pointed at the copilot. “And you, young man — even if your pilot doesn’t have any sense, have you forgotten that quickly what they taught you at OCS about obeying orders?”
The copilot blushed, glanced at his compadre, then faced forward. “No, Admiral,” he said softly, “I haven’t forgot at all. We spend a lot of time talking about getting the job done.”
Batman sighed. As much as he’d like to continue chewing them out for their foolishness, they both had a point. More importantly, they’d been right. And that made up for a hell of a lot of disobedience. If I try to discipline them, he thought ruefully, I’m liable to wake up surrounded by the SEALS. These two are heroes to them. He continued to glare at the two aviators.
Finally, as the tension built to unbearable levels he sighed. “You’re going to be pulling every Alert Five your squadron has for the next three months, you realize that?” He tossed the two aviators’ flight training folders on his desk. “And hell may freeze over before you ever get liberty.”
Both men nodded.
“And for your little role in this escapade, I think you’ve just volunteered for another mission,” Batman continued. “Seems like the information you brought back was important to a couple of fellows on this boat. To all of us, but to five others especially. You got any idea who that might be?”
“The SEALS?” the pilot asked.
Batman nodded. “Exactly. And they seem to think they can get in, grab their teammate, and get out. They have a little transportation problem, though. You men might be just the people to solve it for them.”
“Yes, sir,” the copilot said. He glanced at his pilot, suddenly aware that he’d usurped something that wasn’t his privilege.
The older aviator looked pale. “We’d be honored to fly them in, Admiral,” he said. “And out. If they’re anything like the man I saw on the ground, the outcome’s not in question.”
Batman fixed the aviator with a steely look, trying to hide the note of concern in his voice. “The outcome’s always in doubt, sir,” he said coldly. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
Senior Chief Huerta looked doubtfully at the two men. “You ever flown Special Forces before?” he demanded.
“Only once. About half an hour ago, when we found out your man was still alive,” the pilot retorted. “That good enough for you?”
“It will have to do.” The chief’s face softened slightly. “And don’t think we’re not damned grateful for that, too, sir.”
“You just make sure we get out in one piece,” the pilot said. He bent over the plotting table and studied the chart before him. “What’s the plan?”
“A few details still to be worked out, sir,” the chief responded. He pointed to a flat spot near the entrance to the ice cavern the pilots had seen. “We figure we’ll want you to set down here. Our man may be injured.” He glanced up sharply. “You said there was someone else with him?”
The pilot nodded. “I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like two of them were prisoners, from the way the guards were herding them around.”
“Well, we might as well bring two out as one.”
“Chief, that does look a mite risky, setting down right in the middle of them, don’t you think?” the copilot said doubtfully. He looked up, and his eyes met the faded blue eyes of the chief.